The iron bolt had barely slid into the doorframe when Kaelen stopped in his tracks.
Through the slatted window, he watched Mina adjust the leather straps of her travel cloak. Her face was pale, her slender shoulders weighed down by the burden of leading forty thousand soldiers to the Dragon-Spur Crater. She was still at Nascent Soul Early.
If she marches out there at Early stage, she will have to exert herself, Kaelen thought, rubbing his temples with a weary sigh. Exertion leads to shouting. Shouting travels across the river, echoes off the mountains, and ruins my nap. If my sister is going to war, she needs enough overwhelming power to freeze an entire army in absolute silence.
Kaelen turned around and slid the wooden bolt back open.
“Mina,” Kaelen called out softly. “Step inside for eight minutes. Leave your boots by the door.”
Mina paused on the gravel path. She unclasped her cloak and stepped through the doorway in her wool socks, looking at him with curious blue eyes.
Mina tilted her head, watching him prepare the bronze ladle. “You usually refuse to touch the cauldron unless the house is on fire, Kaelen. Why the sudden diligence?”
“This is not diligence,” Kaelen corrected her firmly. “This is preventive slacking. A seven-minute burst of alchemy now prevents forty-eight hours of emergency rescue expeditions later. If you get into trouble at the crater, Sera will come banging on my window, and I would have to put on real trousers.”
